Sympathy
by GreyLiliy
Summary: There's a traitor among the ranks, and instead of information, he's taken a life. Mirage has the finger pointed at him yet again, even though the real killer is someone close at hand. Will he be able to prove his innocence, and what will happen when he's cornered the real killer? (Hound x Mirage, Slow Build. G1 Cartoon w/IDW Influence)
1. Chapter 1

So, I was asking for Dark!Fic prompts-not because I wanted to write any, but because I like reading them. Sometimes prompts are almost more fun to think about (flesh out the prompt, wipe it and start over with a different details, repeat). But then Cally dropped the Hound x Mirage one on me and it was like "Damn, that's perfect."

It's so simple, and yet so obvious, and I had to write it. o_o

**Sympathy**

_Pairing_: Hound x Mirage, Slow Build (G1 Cartoon w/IDW G1 Influences)

_Summary_: There's a traitor among the ranks, and instead of information, he's taken a life. Mirage has the finger pointed at him yet again, even though the real killer is someone close at hand. Will he be able to prove his innocence, and what will happen when he's cornered the real killer?

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"I swear, you mention one time that maybe the Decepticons aren't all bad and that we could end this war by acknowledging that and working together, and you're branded a traitor forever! I can not believe Sideswipe and the others are still teasing me. They say they're joking but I can tell! They're not." Mirage said, nose in the air. He gave off an air of nobility, even when plastered out of his processor on high grade. Hound rubbed Mirage's back, sipping slowly out of his own cube of regular energon. Mirage didn't get this way often, but everyone needed to get it out of their system once in a while. Mirage whined, "Being sympathetic doesn't mean I'm handing over the keys to the front door!"

"Of course not," Hound said. He leaned back around one of the storage bins hiding them from view to check the cargo bay door. No one was around. He supposed he could hide them with a hologram, but Mirage didn't like how the waves clashed with his own cloaking device. He said it buzzed in his head. But, Mirage would kill himself if anyone other than his dear friend Hound saw him with three empty cubes. "But you are a spy. They can't help but be mistrusting of that sort of work. Comes with the territory."

"Spy," Mirage said, spitting out the word like it was low grade debasing his taste sensors. He frowned, scrunching his face-plates. "Oh, please. At the basest definition, maybe. I turn invisible and watch people from rafters. If I were really good at my job, I'd actually be in their ranks and gathering more useful intel than 'Megatron has thrown a fit again.'"

Hound chuckled as he sipped his drink. He put a hand on Mirage's shoulder and pushed it gently. "You're a little too proud for that sort of undercover work."

"Maybe," Mirage said. He pulled his legs up, and rested his helm on the back wall. "I don't mean to be, I suppose, but it's...I don't want-"

"To give up who you are," Hound finished for him. He put his hand on Mirage's helm, and pushed it down gently. Mirage waved an arm at him, but he was too inebriated to make contact. Hound pulled his hand back. "I know. Believe me, I know. You pretend to be something you're not enough as it is."

"Oh?" Mirage asked, his optics dimming from the high grade slowing his systems. He'd be in recharge soon enough to burn off the excess. Hound would carry Mirage to his hab-suite, and in the morning he'd find a delicately written note apologizing for Mirage's crass behavior. Hound had two so far. He was oddly proud to receive them. "And what makes you say that?"

"To be nice, you hold your tongue," Hound said. "You don't want to alienate us, because you do like your fellow Autobots, so you curb the Tower Etiquette to a minimum."

Mirage hummed, his head dropping.

"I don't think anyone who accuses you of being a 'Spoiled Towers' Brat' has any idea how much you tone it down for us," Hound said, thoughtfully.

Mirage's mouth quirked up, and he leaned over. Hound grabbed Mirage's half-full high grade cube before it could drop. Mirage looked at his empty hand, and clicked off his optics with a softly cycled sigh. Hound set the unfinished cube gently on the floor, as Mirage asked, "And you do?"  
Hound's face darkened. His soft smile morphed into a frown, glad Mirage's optics had already clicked off.

"I remember my share of Tower's mechs, Mirage. You don't act a thing like any of them, even though I can tell you sometimes want to."

"I suppose I'll," Mirage paused, voice slow and fading, "take that as a compliment. You're too good to me, friend."

Mirage thumped against his side, no longer able to hold himself up. Hound listened to the steady hum of systems in recharge. A gentle buzz of sluggish gears and flowing power that was shared between Nobles and Peasants alike. He stroked the back of his finger down the mech's cheek. "Night, Mirage."

* * *

Hound was in the field, hidden safely behind a hologram map of the rock formation he had settled down on as he waited for his contact. If anyone could see past the red and brown disguise, they'd think Hound has just gotten a new upgrade with the smile that was on his face.

He had found the note under his door, hand written no less, on cue that morning. Mirage's calligraphic handwriting was one of the few things Hound had no qualms with concerning the Towers. The elegant script was an art form, and there weren't many who could remember the strokes. The words themselves were equally aged and properly chosen. The apology was sincere, and the grateful thanks in every word fell off the page and into his lap.

Hound often wondered if he regretted just how smitten he'd become with the Special Ops agent over the years.

But, that thought was for another time. Hound flipped the letter closed between his fingers and stuck it back into the small tied package that held his other two. Hound subspaced the package, and dropped the hologram for the approaching contact had arrived.

"You're late, Ratbat," Hound said, sneering at one of the other few mechs to survive the Towers. "Since me risking my neck out here would affect both me and the cause, the least you could do is be on time."

"Oh please," Ratbat said, in the same accented tone as Mirage. Hound clenched his teeth, and squeezed his fists together-To think they used to live at the same place. Ratbat landed on the rock nearest Hound's seat. The tracker reactivated the hologram, shrouding them both from view. Ratbat huffed, "You're on a routine patrol, and aren't due back at that awful Autobot base for hours yet. There is no 'late' here."

"Either way," Hound said. He crossed his hands over his chest, and snorted. "You have the word back from my last report or not?"

"Yes, and the conclusion was so petty and simple that I'm almost ashamed to replay the information," Ratbat said. He flapped his wings once, and tried to puff up to a higher standing. "Morale for the Decepticons is low, and too high for the Autobots. Megatron wants that reversed, and he thinks a death in the Autobot ranks'll do the trick. Say congratulations to your newest assignment."

"What? He wants me to set someone up to get shot in the field?" Hound asked. His holograms could do the trick if he was careful. Maybe lure someone over, but he'd have to be careful no one noticed.

"No, no." Ratbat, corrected. The bat jumped up to a higher position on a new rock. "They want you to do it. Something inside their base."

"Wouldn't that give away there's a mech on the inside?" Hound frowned.

"Yes!" Ratbat hissed, though there was a bit of perverse joy in it. "You're not as dumb as you look, jeep."

"I can rip your wings off," Hound growled.

"Calm yourself," Ratbat shrugged. "Consider it a two-fer. You kill someone who annoys you, then set up someone else who annoys you as the fall guy. Simple. Autbot Morale takes a dive for grief and rage at a traitor they didn't know about."

"I suppose that could work," Hound said. He rubbed the bottom of his chin, lists of names passing through his processor. "Just need to figure out who."

"That," Ratbat said flying up. "Is all on your shoulders."

Hound watched Ratbat fly away and hummed. The orders were petty, but it was a step up in the game. Hound reached down and grabbed a handful of fresh earth. He rubbed his fingers together, smearing the red dirt. Hound loved the smell of it. He hadn't had a chance to his hands really dirty in a while.

And Hound loved getting dirty.

* * *

It was impossible for a deep cover spy to not get attached on some level to his targets. Not after this long, and not if you were this good. It was a fact of life, and any spy who told you different was as cold sparked as Soundwave-and even he had his little cassettes. Like humans, Cybertronians craved company and contact. Besides, folks were bound to be suspicious if you weren't sincere on some level with your affections and relationships. To maintain your sanity of betraying those you loved on a daily basis, you learned to see it as selling out the whole, not the individuals.

However, it did make picking assassination targets a little difficult.

Hound sighed as he sipped his cube in the rec room. Trailbreaker sat next to him, talking about some new hiking trail that Spike and Sparkplug had found the other day. They'd gone off the beaten path and discovered something amazing or another the Tracker would have wished he'd seen. Hound was half listening, but he was mostly observing out of the corner of his eye.

Trailbreaker, Mirage, and Bumblebee were all off the list of potentials. Two were close to him, and the third was out of the question. Hound needed to crush morale, not enrage the Autobot army into a revenge-crazed fury. Hound chuckled appropriately at Trailbreaker when he mentioned a bird's nest. Who did you kill, that didn't start something worse? That was the real game.

Take out Ironhide, Bumblebee or Ratchet, and Prime's rage would be unstoppable. Hurt the Twins? Ratchet the Hatchet, Prowl, and maybe Skyfire considering how close he'd gotten to the red 'Bot, would be storming the Nemesis. Prowl and Jazz were interchangeable. No one in command. Touch Wheeljack and the Dinobots and Ratchet would be on you, and vice-versa. The list just went on, and on.

Hound needed someone less popular. Hoist or Grapple, maybe? Cosmos might be an option. The spy snorted. Speaking of stupid flyers, maybe Powerglide would be a good choice-at least that'd be an annoyance out of his system.

"I'm telling you, a bigger gun makes everything better," Cliffjumper said across the room, drawing Hound's attention against his will.

The small red minibot was walking side by side with Mirage. They both held newly filled cubes, and were heading for a table near Gears and Pipes' table. Hound put down his own cube and his mission thoughts alike, as they sat together.

"Bigger is always better," Cliffjumper said, with authority he didn't have. He drank a gulp from his cube and stuck out his hand. "That tiny pistol of yours needs an upgrade."

"Hardly. It functions as necessary, and it's done well by me so far." Mirage said. He gave Cliffjumper a Noble's smile, and sipped at the edge of his cube. "And you'll forgive me if I fail to take 'bigger is better' advice from a Minibot."

Cliffjumper punched Mirage in the arm, laughing. "Good one."

"Yes," Mirage said, rubbing the metal. He was checking for a dent, and Hound had already decided the noble better not find one. Mirage shook his head. "But you did mention you upgraded your own, yes?"  
"Yeah!" Cliffjumper said, jumping up in his seat. "This thing's a beauty. It's perfect for blasting through a wall of 'Cons. The firepower Wheeljack hooked up is crazy..."

Hound's eyes narrowed as Mirage listened closely to Cliffjumper go on about his firearms. Mirage was listening-genuinely listening. There was no Tower's Mechs haughty humoring. Honest to Primus, consideration for Cliffjumper's interests were on Mirage's face. Hound tensed, and eyes narrowed. How dare that little-

"They've gotten close, lately, huh?" Trailbreaker said, patting Hound's arm. The jeep sighed-Caught staring. Trailbreaker crossed his arms on the table. He looked at Hound like he knew. "I can't decide if it's for the better or the worse, even if I am glad Cliffjumper isn't constantly screaming at Mirage any more."

"Yeah," Hound said, tapping his drink up and down on the table. "Something like that."

Mirage laughed, the sound crystal and clear. Genuinely joyful laughter at something that trigger happy, little fragger had said. Hound nearly had to throw up a hologram to hide the unexpected scowl that desperately wanted to crawl on his face.

_Cliffjumper._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

He had a target, but not a patsy to take the fall. But then again, it was Cliffjumper: Who hadn't wanted to strangle that minibot at least once? Someone would probably incriminate themselves if he played his cards right.

Hound snorted to himself, as he drove up the path with a sleeping Spike Witwicky in his back seat. They'd taken a longer hike than they had planned, and the teenager hadn't been able to keep his eyes open when they finally hit the road for home. Hound didn't really mind. Spike was a good kid, and all in all, it worked well for Hound. Gave him time to think without trying to keep up appearances.

Murdering Cliffjumper would be easy, at least. There was nothing better than when personal interests aligned with mission orders.

Hound hadn't known it was possible to get this jealous.

He knew that Cliffjumper and Mirage had become friends since the mind-control incident, but he hadn't paid them much mind. After the rec room flash of realization, he'd paid much more attention to them when he could. Hound hadn't liked what he'd found, now that he was looking: They were far closer than he'd realized. They watched things together in the break room. Gone on team assignments. Ate together at least twice a week.

Hound's engine roared: They'd _fragged_.

"Hound?" Spike asked from the back seat. He sat up, wiping the corner of his eye and looking far younger than he was. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry for waking you, Spike," Hound said, cheerful as he was able. "Just got a little excited to see a bird on my watch list."

"You probably scared him away," Spike said. He rolled over, and put his hand on the back of the front seat. He pressed his palm flat, and felt the vibrations under the leather. With the intuition of a youngling, he asked, "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Spike. Go back to sleep," Hound answered.

"Okay, but you know you can talk to me if there's a problem, right?" Spike asked.

"Of course," Hound revved his engine softly. "Now get back to sleep or you'll never be able to stay awake when you tell your dad about the hike today."

"Yeah," Spike chuckled, closing his eyes again.

Hound calmed himself, grateful for Spike's distraction. Being angry wouldn't help with the situation, and Hound sure had a problem alright: Cliffjumper had fragged Mirage. Once, but it had happened. Hound overheard him talking about it to Gears, and he nearly killed the both of them on the spot. Not because Cliffjumper had been bragging about an easy lay, but because he'd been enamored. He'd been asking for advise on how to move forward in the relationship. Gears had encouraged him. Mirage was good for Cliffjumper, he had said.

Murderous had been an understatement concerning Hound's emotions.

Mirage hadn't shown that interest in Hound-or if he had, the tracker had missed the signs a mile wide. He wasn't sure what was more frustrating: That Mirage was more interested in Cliffjumper, or that Hound had somehow missed his chance.

But it wouldn't matter soon enough. The red minibot would be dead, Mirage would be upset, and Hound was more than ready to step in this time.

Maybe Hound would set Gears up for the fall.

* * *

"Here on behalf of Hound?" Mirage asked, sighing into his cube. He had been waiting in the break room for Cliffjumper, but the red minibot was apparently running late. Mirage hadn't minded, considering how empty the room was, but it seemed his peace was broken as Trailbreaker took a seat next to him. "Not that I blame you."

"Well, you must already feel guilty if you're starting off the conversation," Tailbreaker chuckled. The bigger mech scooted his chair back to get more comfortable. "Word about you and Cliffjumper got around pretty quick after he told Gears."

"I figured as much," Mirage said. He covered his mouth. Mirage wasn't angry about it, per say, but he had hoped that Cliffjumper would have known to keep what was going on a secret until Mirage had given him a definite answer on his proposal. "I imagine Hound's angry I didn't tell him earlier?"

"Not sure, actually," Trailbeaker said. "Haven't seen him. I was curious myself as to why you hadn't told him about Cliffjumper earlier. He's your friend, too, isn't he?"

"What was between Cliffjumper and I wasn't all that serious," Mirage said. He rubbed his fingers on the table, tracing the marble pattern someone had painted into the surface. "Flings are fleeting, and they didn't really seem like something I needed to share."

"I don't think Cliffjumper considers fragging you a fling," Trailbreaker pointed out. Mirage sunk down, curving his back and for once, not caring about his reputation. Trailbreaker continued, almost sheepish, "Gears made it sound pretty serious."

"It may have been heading that way," Mirage said. And it had been, if he was being honest. Cliffjumper was loud, and crude and brash, but he was genuine. Hound was always telling Mirage he needed more relationships, and he wasn't completely opposed to giving it a shot. Though, Mirage would be lying if he hadn't hoped for someone else to step up. "I guess I didn't want to bother Hound with it unless I knew for sure myself."

"Part of being friends is talking that stuff out," Trailbreaker said. "He's going to be hurt you left him out."

"I know," Mirage said. He took a deep drink out of his cube, and leaned on the back of his hand. "I think I owe him a verbal apology for this one."

"Don't worry," Trailbreaker said. He reached over and tapped the table in an odd display of comfort. "Hound'll understand."

* * *

Cliffjumper stood in the center of in the storage room, swaying back and forth on his legs as he waited. You tell someone to meet them at a certain time, and then keep them waiting. How was that for a how-do-you-do? Cliffjumper openly smirked when Hound entered the room, a sheepish hand behind his head as he closed the door behind him. If the minibot had doubts before, they were gone now: Cliffjumper knew exactly what this was about. And if Hound thought the minibot was going to back off, that tracker was dead wrong.

"Hound," Cliffumper said. He put a hand on his hip, and used a thumb to point to himself. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah," Hound said. He shrugged in that humble way of his, and stopped about five feet from Cliffjumper. His he looked at the crate behind the minibot, and his face shifted serious."Had something I wanted to talk about."

"Mirage, right?" Cliffjumper said. Hound's face looked surprised for a moment and he chuckled.

Cliffjumper had called it.

"What makes you say that?" Hound asked, eyeing Cliffjumper suspiciously.

"You're his friend." Cliffjumper crossed his arms, and stepped one foot away from the other in a power stance. "I figure you heard about us this morning, either from Mirage clarifying a rumor, or someone else spreading gossip. You're either concerned for his well being and want to give me a lecture, or you're jealous and want me to back off."

"Interesting theory," Hound said. He crossed his arms, and hummed. "Which one are you leaning toward?"

"Personally?" Cliffjumper said, frowning. "I think somewhere in between. You seem like the kind of guy who couldn't figure out how you felt, and waffled until Mirage was taken. And now you're frustrated because you'll never know if you had a chance or not."

Hound tapped his fingers along his arm. The normally chilled Autobot was more agitated than he was expecting, and Cliffjumper started to revise his theory. Hound's voice was low as he said, "You're acting like you and Mirage are an item already."

"We are," Cliffjumper said. He coughed, and felt the energon heat his cheeks as he scratched behind his head. "Or will be. I figure since last night was our third time together, that it's safe enough to ask for something more official."

"Wrong," Hound said, something off in his voice.

Cliffjumper dropped his arm. Something wasn't right. The minibot clenched his fists, as Hound scowled at him. Now this was new. "And what exactly am I wrong about?"

"Mirage isn't into fragging dead mechs," Hound said. "He's not a pervert."

"What?" Cliffjumper asked, just before a shriek of twisting metal split echoed in the room.

Cliffjumper's pumps sputtered as he looked down. A sharpened pole about the width of his fist, had been shoved through his chest from the back. He looked down at the jagged point spearing forward, and his hand reached out for Hound.

"Frag! Hey! A little help would be nice!" Cliffjumper shouted, as the pole started to twist. The pole had missed his spark casing by an inch-he could feel it!-and he struggled to turn and meet his attacker. Why was Hound just standing there!? Cliffjumper snarled as he forced his chest around and-saw Hound.

The hologram that he'd been talking to disappeared with an amused grin through the flicker. The Hound holding the rod shoved through Cliffjumper's chest, on the other hand, looked like something from the Pit between the snarl and the narrowed eyes. "Hound?"

"You were half right about the second one," Hound said. Cliffjumper coughed energon, and it splattered against the leaking fluids already coming from his open wound. "I am most definitely jealous."

"En-enough to kill for?" Cliffjumper pulled a gun from subspace and swung it up and around, smashing it into the side of Hound's head. The larger tracker let out an expletive as he let go of the pole and tired to block the second hit. Cliffjumper pushed him away with a third smack, and a cry of "You're crazy!"

Cliffjumper dropped the barrel of his rifle, and lined Hound in the sights. He had his hand on the trigger, shaking and all as he tried to ignore the pole through his chest. "Stand down or I shoot you!"

Hound chuckled, "I keep forgetting you're a scrappy little thing. No wonder Astrotrain and Blitzwing are always complaining about wanting you gone."

Hound wiped at his mouth, and looking at a drip of energon from his dented teeth. He knocked himself on the head with his knuckles. Cliffjumper's systems screamed to a halt, or at least the ones still left working, as he looked at Hound. Something had changed about him. His stance, his confidence, the way he held himself-everything. It's like one of his holograms had dropped to reveal some stranger.

"But I can give you props for that." Hound said. "So, before you die-who do you hate more? Gears or Pipes? Because I haven't decided yet which one is going to get pinned for decorating the storage room with your broken parts, and I figure you might be owed a say."

"You, you planned this." Cliffjumper said, his grip on his weapon struggling as his internal systems screamed at him. What was this? Hound was too calm. This wasn't a jealousy based attack. This was too calculated. Nature loving, friendly, Hound didn't plan murders this way. He especially didn't take out his jealousy on other people when Cliffjumper was the target. Autobots didn't work that way. Cliffjumper snarled. Two and two just made four. "This wasn't about Mirage at all! You're just a filthy traitor!"

"And they say your leaps of logic never make any sense," Hound said. The tracker took advantage of Cliffjumper's anger and fired a small pistol the minibot hadn't even seen him take out. The blast split through his chest, shattering both the pole and cracking his spark chamber.

Maybe Mirage hadn't been wrong about the benefits of a small gun.

Cliffjumper felt his spark burst, as it's tendrils of energy sensed the opening in their encasement. Desperate to fill the new space, the energy seeped toward it. Cliffjumper could feel it dispersing in the air, no longer contained. He clawed at his chest desperate to keep it all inside as heavy footsteps lined up near his head. Hound looked down at him, a satisfied smirk that churned Cliffjumper's insides.

"You w-won't get away with this," Cliffjumper said, spitting a wad of energon at the traitor.

Hound crouched down, and leaned close to Cliffjumper's audio receptors. "Big words for a little 'Bot."

"D-dirty f-fragger," Cliffjumper said. His spark sputtered, and reached tendrils of energy to the open air in its attempt to escape up. It was trying to go back to The Well. Cliffjumper could feel it.

It was too early. Cliffjumper wanted to rip someone's head off. He finally-finally had somebody all his own. And this? This is what Primus dealt him? And what about-What was Mir-

"Oh, and as for Mirage," Hound said. He pulled a piece of yellow metal, and scraped it down Cliffjumper's front in a quick vicious swipe. Cliffjumper jerked with each slash. "I didn't need to kill you to claim him for myself. I'm confident he would have dumped a worthless, gun-crazy fragger like you for me in a second if he knew I wanted him. This was just business, so don't think so highly of yourself."

"F-frag you," Cliffjumper said.

His last words.


	3. Chapter 3

Hound's hologram equipment is OP and Trailbreaker's a cutie. Also, Soundwave. Decepticon!Hound is ridiculously fun to write.

**Chapter 3**

Ratchet was a miracle worker.

Mirage thanked Primus a hundred times over for the strength of spark he gave that red idiot. The blue and white mech sat by his side in the ICU room First Aid had set up, exhausted. Until the culprit who committed this horrible act was found, admission was only permitted medical staff and, by recommendation from both Trailbreaker and Skids, Mirage. They believed having someone Cliffjumper cared about close by might help his spark recover.

Cliffjumper was alive, but not awake. His spark was far too weak, and his body was being maintained by a third energy source fed directly into his systems. But with the crack in his spark casing closed and sealed again, his spark was growing steadily as it gathered itself again and drank from the new line. It might take a few months, but he'd wake. Mirage held the tiny mech's hand and rubbed the top. "Come on now, you can do it."

Mirage watched the monitor with the steady energy reading attached to the minibot's spark casing. Ratchet may have saved his spark, but it was Bumblebee who was the real hero.

If he hadn't walked into that storage room when he had, Cliffjumper's spark would have been beyond saving.

Mirage clenched his fist. Some monster had stabbed Cliffjumper straight thru, spilling his energon everywhere and causing the near fatal crack near his spark. Nearly all of his life-force had escaped the tiny fracture by the time Bumblebee arrived, looking for an extra pillow for Spike to sit on.

There had been no sign of the guilty party, but it was enough to know it had happened. Either a Decepticon had snuck inside, or the Autobots had a traitor. That it was Cliffjumper who was targeted was a fact not lost on Mirage.

Red Alert checked the surveillance cameras, of course, but found nothing. The room had been searched, but evidence was slim. There had been such a rush to provide care to Cliffjumper, any useable evidence had been lost. Prowl and the others vowed to find the mech who did this, they assured Mirage. And they would be severely punished.

However, Mirage doubted there'd be anything left to punish once he got to the fragger who did this first.

* * *

Ratchet was a damned miracle worker.

_The fragger,_ Hound thought to himself, pacing back and forth. He punched his fist into a rock on his patrol route in the center of the desert. _Bumblebee, too._

All he had to do was wait for the spark to extinguish completely-rule number one: never leave a live body-when that little bubbly brat opened the door. Hound had managed to throw up a cloaking hologram and back up enough that the minibot didn't notice him, but it had been close. Too close. He barely made it out of the room as it was when Bumblebee had called for reinforcements.

So now his chosen victim was not only still alive, but Hound hadn't a chance to plant the rest of the evidence indicating Gears for the kill! Worst of all, though, Mirage had camped out in Cliffjumper's ICU and was refusing to leave for more than the few hours needed for work or recharge.

It was maddening.

Hound needed Cliffjumper dead, and he needed the brat dead now. The tracker punched the wall again, hard enough to break off a decent chunk. But how? The mech stopped his assault on the rock, and bit his thumb. Hound couldn't afford to let this drag out. His teeth clenched down around the digit, nearly denting the metal.

"Someone looks angry," Ratbat said. He flew down and hopped on a perch next to the angry Autobot. Hound threw up a hologram around the two of them as the bratty little cassette made himself comfortable. Ratbat smirked, "But, I would be too if I'd botched a mission that badly."

"I'm handling it," Hound said. He brushed crumbs of rocks off his knuckles, and crossed his arms. Of course Soundwave knew. He knew everything. Hound poked Ratbat in the chest. "It's not like I had a time limit, so why are you here?"

Ratbat flapped his wings and shock out his tiny body to loosen his joints. He tapped the edge of his wing in the center of Hound's chest. "To find out if you need assistance. It's true no time limit was given, but Megatron's getting impatient. He wants a dead Autobot, and he wants it now."

"He'll be dead soon enough," Hound said. He rubbed dirt between his fingers. "I just need to lay low for a day or two before I sneak in and snuff his spark. The place is under constant watch, and I'd rather not loose my second chance to stupid planning."

"Shame," Ratbat said. He shrugged, the mockery filling his optics. "But help is there if you still need it."

"I won't," Hound said. He stared down the cassette and snorted. "Tell Soundwave it'll get done by the end of the week. He'll have nothing to worry about."

"Roger," Ratbat giggled. He flew off without another word.

Hound rubbed at his face. An angry Megatron meant an antsy Soundwave. And it was never good to deal with an antsy boss, different base of operations or not. Hound huffed. Okay. He needed to get Mirage out of that room. Disable all the cameras. And kill Cliffjumper.

He could do that.

* * *

"How you holding up?" Trailbreaker asked, settling next to his friend on the hill. Hound was setting up a new satellite location for Red Alert. Good as time as any to catch him. "Haven't seen you in a bit."

"Fine, fine," Hound answered, looking up. He smiled in that friendly way of his and pat Trailbreaker on the arm. "Not on purpose, 'Breaker. Just been busy, that's all."

"You sure that's it?" Trailbreaker asked. "I don't mean to pry, but I know how you feel 'bout Mirage and all."

Hound hummed, "Do you?"

"Maybe not entirely, but I know he's your friend," Trailbreaker said. He rubbed the back of his head and bumped his shoulder into Hound's. "It must be eating you up inside having Mirage locked in their with Cliffjumper all day."

"I do miss him a bit," Hound said. He looked weary around his eyes. "But it can't be helped, can it?"

"I suppose not," Trailbreaker said, shaking his head. "I still can't believe that happened to Cliffjumper. He was a pest, but that was too close. And a stake through your chest is not a good way to go."

"No, it's not," Hound said, softly. "Painful way to go, I'd imagine."

Trailbreaker nodded. They sat side by side on the hill for a while. The soft grass beneath them, and the wind blowing. The beeping of the satellite system sending back its information was a steady beat. Trailbreaker looked at his worn friend, and his spark ached. He hated seeing things eat at Hound like this.

"Are you going to be okay, Hound?" Trailbreaker asked. "I mean it, if you want to talk about anything, I'm here for you."

"I know you are, Trailbreaker," Hound said. He pulled himself up off the ground and brushed off the dirt he loved so much. "I appreciate you looking out for me, but I'm not quite ready to talk about it yet."

"That's fine," Trailbreaker said. "I can wait."

Hound nodded once and set off down the hill back toward the Ark. It wasn't quite where Trailbreaker was hoping that conversation would go, but it was a step in the right direction.

* * *

Mirage was still in the ICU, Cliffjumper was still alive, Trailbreaker was worried, and Hound needed to get out of the Ark.

He wasn't even going to attempt an ICU break in until at least another day, and the rest of the base wasn't much better. Prowl, Jazz and Red Alert had formed one heck of a power team on their search for the traitor, to use Cliffjumper's favorite word.

Which wasn't accurate.

A traitor meant you betrayed your own side.

As a Decepticon, Hound was a spy and undercover operative-he hadn't betrayed the Autobots.

But that was all semantics and unimportant. This screw up with Cliffjumper left Hound's mind a jumble. He needed to get out, clear his head of everything from Mirage to Soundwave. He'd get things back on track, and finish the mission.

What better way to get back on track than to do something you loved?

"Great shot!" Runamuck shouted, as Hound landed a shot to Sideswipe's shoulder. "Yeah!"

Hound smirked, hidden by a disguise hologram of his private makings. It laid directly on the surface of his metal, changing the color and ornaments. As long as he stayed close to the middle and back the Decepticon lines, no one would ever be able to tell it was a disguise.

And if someone was looking for dear Hound on the battlefield? His comm line was wide open and listening. It'd take two seconds to suddenly appear from behind a new hologram and claim he was using the terrain to his advantage.

Hound loved his equipment, it made for the best work on both sides.

The Tracker took another shot, and felt the rush from knocking yet another minibot off his feet. He loved a few of his Autobot buddies, but Hound enjoyed taking a few of them down a few pegs by sending them to the medbay a little more.

He managed to get a pot-shot in on Gears for good measure when a chill fell over his spark casing. He didn't have to look over his shoulder to see who had walked up behind him. Hound nodded, "Boss."

"Time for games?" Soundwave asked, his monotone deceptively bored.

"Killing time until the right moment," Hound said, pulling back the bolt on his weapon. He emptied the cartridge and loaded a new set. "Nothing good ever comes from rushing."

"Affirmative," Soundwave said. "Deadline: Unchanged."

"You got it," Hound smirked. He lined Bumblebee up in his scope. "Trust me, Cliffjumper'll be dead by the end of the week."

Soundwave nodded in agreement, and proceeded to stand his ground watching the field from Hound's side.

The tracker pulled the trigger, and laughed when it burst through Bumblebee's kneecap.


End file.
